


Don't Go (Where I Can't Follow)

by GingerSpice



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Cuddling, F/M, M/M, Mentions of Death, Minor torture descriptors, Pack Feels, Puppy Piles, almost dead!Stiles, eventual werewolf!stiles, injured!Stiles, kind of underage-ish, minor sex scene, pack saw sterek coming like a train, sterek, tortured!Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-28
Updated: 2014-02-28
Packaged: 2018-01-14 01:21:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1247401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GingerSpice/pseuds/GingerSpice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles doesn't have much time left.  He's not dying, exactly, but he knows it's coming.  Partner that with having Laura Hale for a reaper, hunters, and a newly found relationship with Derek, Stiles isn't exactly sure how his last few months will play out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Go (Where I Can't Follow)

Stiles doesn’t have much time left.

He realized this one night when the pack is curled up together in Stiles’s living room, watching the Avengers for the fifteenth time because Stiles insisted and Stiles gets what he wants when Lydia doesn’t.

It’s not that he feels sick or anything, he just has this feeling. It’s a simple sort of feeling--just a little chill that makes him snuggle closer to Derek, ignoring the glare that he gets in return. But Stiles’ figures that a couple threatening looks are alright. He got this same feeling when his mom was dying. He’s got a month, maybe three, then. And Stiles will be damned if he doesn’t spend it with the people who have become his family. 

The next week is surprisingly free of supernatural disturbances. Even Derek seems to relax, and the pack spends most of their time together. It is summer, after all, and for that Stiles is grateful. No schoolwork to deal with while he’s dying. Well, he’s not dying exactly. He doesn’t feel any different--he’s not getting weaker, he doesn’t smell any different (he asked Scott). But at the same time, he still feels like he has something watching him, judging his interactions. Like he’s got his own personal grim reaper (He’s decided to call her Laura. It seems appropriate, somehow), who’s just waiting to grasp his soul and bear it off to--wherever he’s going. 

But, of course, he forgets all about Laura when the monster of the week decides to run through Beacon Hills and try to demolish the forests around the town. Stiles still isn’t really sure what purpose the monster had in mind, but who is he to judge the obscure mating rituals of some equally obscure descendent of the Minotaur.

But no matter. After everyone else had recovered from their various scrapes and bruises they’d reconvened at Stiles’s house--specifically, around his living room couch, where Stiles was nursing bruised ribs and a reset shoulder dislocation. The last move of the whatever-it-was (really, Stiles was too doped up to remember right now) had been to toss Stiles against the biggest oak tree still left in the forest, and then slam him into the ground before Derek was able to get to him. 

So now, Stiles was mumbling nonsense as Lydia popped in a movie (not The Notebook, surprisingly) and the pack gathered around their injured human (they had taken him to Deaton. Derek gingerly shifted Stiles until his head was in Derek’s lap, and Stiles swore that he had felt Derek’s hand tenderly running through his growing hair. To Stiles, it felt like Laura was sitting on the back of the couch, watching over him and her little brother, and it made going to sleep a hell of a lot easier.

The next day pain was bleeding over his limited dosage of pain meds, and for some reason Derek was right there. As soon as Stiles felt the pain recede from his chest and shoulder, a hand gingerly touching the back of his neck, he truly relaxed back into the embrace of his bed. Somehow, he had ended up in his bed, surrounded by the heat that indicated at least two other pack members in his bed and the mumbled and snores of the rest of them on the floor. Trying not to move anything but his head, Stiles quickly determined that Scott was on one side while Derek was on the other. Stiles tried to open his mouth, but Derek gently shushed him with a finger against his lips. 

“Do you remember getting injured? Blink once for yes, twice for no.” Derek’s voice was strangely worried, and held a note of something that Stiles couldn’t really identify. Stiles blinked once, matching his gaze with Derek’s eyes to stay awake. The combination of heat and comfort is making Stiles want to drown in sleep until he doesn’t wake up. That thought scares Stiles until he reexamines his bad feeling, and decides that he’s still got another month or so. He almost misses Derek’s next words.

“I’m sorry.”

Stiles vehemently shakes his head, dislodging Derek’s finger, and hisses, “Don’t you dare say that. It wasn’t your fault. You were on the other side of the clearing, Derek!” 

Derek winces as Stiles voice emerges--because of both how painful it sounds and at the words themselves.

“I should’ve been faster.” Derek grits out, instinctively reaching out towards Stiles, burying his neck between Stiles’s head and shoulder. Stiles was thankful that it wasn’t the injured one, because he quite liked this new position. As Derek snuffled, breathing in Stiles’ scent and hoping to drown in it, Stiles tried one more time to reason with his sourwolf before he fell asleep again.

“Seriously, Der, it’s not your fault. I’ll be fine, because, you know, I’m me and I’ve got you guys and--” Stiles had turned his head to face the top of Derek’s, when suddenly they were face to face and breathing each other’s air when Derek pulled his head out of the crook of Stiles’s neck and Stiles’s brain is short-circuiting because he could swear that just a second ago his lungs had been fully functional and now all he could feel was a smooth, wet heat as Derek’s lips met his and then Derek’s tongue was in his mouth and oh god it felt like Stiles had all the time in the world left and he was running on a high that eclipsed his entire life experience and it was over far too soon. 

“Sorry.” Derek moved as if he was about to get off the bed, but Stiles fisted his hand in Derek’s maroon Henley, and Derek stills immediately, not wanting to disturb the delicate balance that Stiles is clutching in his tight fist.

“Don’t you dare be sorry.”

“I shouldn’t have done that.”

“I liked it.”

“You aren’t even eighteen yet.”

“Give me another month and I will be! Look, Derek, you may be emotionally constipated and good at avoiding conversations about feelings and shit but I want this, Derek. I have since you walked into my life with your perfect eyes and your eyebrows and your abs and--”

Stiles’s voice had risen to almost-shouting levels--a fact Derek and Stiles were informed of when Scott shifted off of the bed and the rest of the pack rose gracefully from the floor towards the door. Scott gave the pair a thumbs up, ever the optimist, as he walked out the door with a smiling Allison and a grinning Isaac, while Erica winked and Boyd continued to look tall dark and uninterested. Jackson grumbled a bit as Lydia poked his side to get him going. 

“About time.” They heard Lydia call out right before the door shut, leaving Derek and Stiles in a stunned silence. 

The pair lay like that for a few more moments--before Stiles mumbled “Fuck it.” and mashed his lips against Derek’s. Derek didn’t respond, shocked, for a few moments before one of his hands was suddenly cupping the back of Stiles’s head, and Derek was tilting his head slightly to better slot his lips against the plump mouth currently attacking his own. When Derek’s tongue slipped out to lick along Stiles’s teeth, Stiles moaned and felt his knees go weak as Derek invaded his mouth, as if he was trying to drown in the hot slide of tongue against tongue, lips against lips. 

Derek rolled over, caging Stiles’s shoulders between his forearms as he continued to ravish Stiles’s mouth. Another moan escaped Stiles’s mouth as Derek ground his hips down over Stiles’s growing erection, shifting his attention to Stiles’s necks. As he sucked and bit a large hickey high on Stiles’s neck--a hickey that Stiles would never be able to hide from his dad.

“Mine.” Derek growled, rolling his hips sharply down into Stiles. 

“Yours.” Stiles agreed breathlessly, shuddering as Derek moved to the other side of his neck, biting another hickey Stiles’s skin and soothing the flushed skin with a slow, sensuous swipe of his tongue. 

“Derek. If you don’t let me touch you I’m going to go insane.” Stiles managed to bite out, fisting his hands in Derek’s henley. 

Derek growled, shifting so he could shove his pants and boxer-briefs down his thighs, and he yanked Stiles’s sweat pants down (Stiles hadn’t realized that he wasn’t wearing the jeans he had been earlier--or his boxers.) But before he could blush, Derek had his hand around both their cocks, smearing the pre-come from both as he jerked them together, breath coming in ragged gasps. Before long, Stiles was coming, and Derek followed shortly after, burying his head into Stiles’ neck.  
The next time that Stiles felt Laura’s presence, he knew his time was quickly running out. The Argent’s had just gotten wind of a family of vicious hunters heading down to Beacon Hills from Canada, and the entire pack was on edge. They were all in various stages of sleep in Derek’s loft, having spent the better part of the day preparing for the hunters. Derek and Stiles were curled together in one of the armchairs (a fluffy, red monstrosity that they loved and Lydia hated), and as Derek finally slipped into sleep, following the rest of his pack, Stiles looked up to see the dead girl from the forest standing in front of them.

“Hello, Stiles.” She said softly, watching how Derek shifted even closer to Stiles in his sleep. Her eyes were gleaming with a gentle fondness, and Stiles could tell how much she loved the man that he belonged with.

“Hello, Laura. Are you my reaper?” He asked, tilting his head slightly to the side.

“Yeah, but I wouldn’t object to not being. I shouldn’t be in the first place--you know werewolves don’t go to heaven. But Death took a shining to me, and the man has a way with food.” Laura said, shrugging her shoulders.

Stiles smiled at her, taking a deep breath to try and quell the sudden feelings of panic in his chest.

“Anyways, I’m just here to give you a warning. Take it as your two-week notice to life, hon. Try to do what you can with it, kay? There’s a lot that can happen in two weeks.” Laura said. Her image flickered, like she was fighting with something to stay and warn Stiles. 

Stiles knew exactly what she was saying, even if he didn’t really know why. 

“I hope I don’t have to take you in two weeks, Stiles. Derek needs you--hell, you might even be--” Laura broke off, a contemplative look on her face.

“Might be what, Laura?” Stiles asked softly, even though his mind had already made the leap. When he had realized that he was attracted to Derek, Stiles had researched everything he could find about werewolves and their mating habits. He knew that he loved Derek, and he also knew that when Derek thought he wasn’t paying attention, he constantly stared at him and made sure to touch him.

“You already know, Stiles. Just promise me this--you take care of my brother. Don’t leave him.” Laura’s voice was pleading, and her image was flickering and disappearing.

“I promise.”

With that, Laura disappeared, a smile of relief on her face. Stiles turned his head slightly, watching Derek’s face as his werewolf boyfriend slipped deeper into sleep.  
The hunters arrived a week later, and Stiles was definitely feeling the stress of being on a time limit. Chris and Allison were trying to turn the hunters back, but it didn’t seem like they were going to succeed, especially when the hunters walked out on the negotiations two days later.

Stiles had five days left, and hell if he wasn’t going to try and use them.

The pack was always together, and Derek made sure that Stiles was always by his side. But eventually Stiles had to go back to his house with his dad. He ate dinner, slept in his own bed, stayed for a day longer than he initially planned because his dad had actually taken a day off work to spend with Stiles.

Stiles had two days left.

He was driving back to Derek’s loft when a black truck t-boned him in an intersection. His jeep was definitely ruined, but the more pressing matter was that it was the hunters. And now they had him, in a warehouse, tied up with a gun to his head.

Stiles had one day left.

He knew that the pack was looking for him, would find him when they realized that there was a building in the warehouse district that was circled with mountain ash. But in the meantime, Stiles was subjected to what he named torture. They almost drowned him, beat him, lit a fire uncomfortably close to the rickety wooden chair he was currently tied to. Stiles felt when two of his ribs cracked, when they dislocated his left shoulder, and resisted screaming. When they broke his feet, screams tore from his throat, rubbing it raw. When they broke his jaw, he couldn’t even make a sound.

But when the pack showed up, Derek at the the front, his eyes going immediately to Stiles’ slumped form, Stiles whimpered, a small measure of hope creeping to the front of his mind, despite the increasingly strong feeling of Laura’s presence, as if her hand was on his shoulder.

When Derek took a step forward, one of the hunters yanked Stiles’ head back by his hair and put a knife to his throat.

“Everyone who is a monster, or is associated with a monster, should not be allowed in this world.” the hunter who seemed to be in charge stepped forward, placing himself between the pack and their member foolishly.

“He has done nothing to harm you.” Derek growled, wolfing out and speaking harshly through his fangs. 

“Too bad.”

The pack went utterly still at the words. 

Then they went wild.

It could be described as slaughter. The hunters didn’t stand a chance against a pack fighting for one of their own. The last hunter left was still standing behind Stiles, one hand fisted in Stiles’ hair and the other trembling as it held the knife to Stiles’ throat. 

“I can still do this.” The man’s voice trembled--and how could it not? His entire group--13 other hunters--were dead, and the pack was still vibrating with visible rage and defiance.

Derek leaped at the man, who drew the blade very shallowly across Stiles’ throat in his haste to complete his task, but still scramble backwards. Derek tore out his throat with his teeth.

Stiles was gurgling, helpless sounds bursting from his throat as his blood slowly drained. The only thing keeping him centered was the feeling of Laura’s hand, squeezing his less-injured shoulder so hard he thought he heard his own bones creak.

“Derek. Derek, Stiles is--Stiles is--” Scott sounded like a broken record, his own voice torn with sobs and grief.

Derek was kneeling in front of Stiles a moment later, tilting Stiles’ head up slightly so he could look into the pain-clouded eyes of the man he loved. 

“Stiles, you have to let me bite you. I can’t lose you.” Derek begged, feeling helpless as more blood pulsed from Stiles’ neck and Stiles’ breathing became shallow and panicked. 

No, Stiles didn’t really want to become a werewolf. But it was definitely preferable to leaving Derek, and he had promised Laura that he would keep him safe. Between one too-light breath and the next, Stiles managed to nod his head quickly, almost passing out from the pain it caused.

Derek’s eyes bored into his for one last moment before he lent in and kissed Stiles’ lips one more time. When his teeth closed around Stiles’ side a few seconds later, Stiles whimpered, then went still.

Time passed, and Stiles was painfully still as Derek sliced the ropes holding Stiles to the chair with his claws, then gathered Stiles into his arms carefully. 

“Let’s get back to my loft. We don’t know how long this will take.”

The if it takes was painfully obvious, and Derek distantly heard Isaac whimper, before the pack turned collectively to walk to the cars. Chris would take care of the cleanup later. For now, the pack had something more important to worry about.

The next few hours saw the pack in Derek’s loft, huddled anxiously around Derek’s bed. Derek ignored them, curled around Stiles’ too-still body on Derek’s bed, as if trying his best to transfer his own warmth to Stiles’ slowly cooling body. They could all hear Stiles’ heart slowing--and just a couple minutes later, they all heard it snap back to attention, beating faster and faster and faster as Stiles’ body made a desperate bid for life.

It worked. Stiles’ body warmed quickly, his heart eventually settled out into it’s slightly too-fast rhythm, and his wounds started healing slowly. The pack winced when they heard Stiles’ jaw creak painfully back into place, and again when his shoulder popped sickeningly as it rejoined with the joint. When Stiles’ eyes opened, gleaming bright gold, the pack breathed a sigh of relief.

Derek kissed him.

Stiles took to being a werewolf surprisingly well. The pack stabilized around their Alpha and his mate, and the supernatural community became well aware of the Beacon Hills Pack. Everything was peaceful. At least, everything was peaceful when Derek and Stiles were together. Because nothing could tear them apart ever again.

Stiles could still sense Laura occasionally, and he smiled every time he felt her. Because he was where he belonged. Standing beside his werewolf, equal and free, cheating Death with every breath because Stiles Stilinksi was loved.

**Author's Note:**

> If I missed tagging something, please let me know and I'll fix it as soon as I can.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed. Needed to take a break from another fic I'm writing.
> 
> Beta'd by the lovely suprisinglycomfortablewithit, over on tumblr.


End file.
